So there I was, digging through the medicine chest at 3 in the morning, rummaging past the Power Ranger Band-Aids, the half-filled bottles of Triamenic, the thermometers, the iodine, and the Ipecac. “Please,” I begged, “let there be just one little roll of Tums hiding under the Neosporin.” But there wasn’t. Nary a one. You’d think, in my line of work, I’d be better prepared.
Then, while I was at the kitchen sink, gulping down a tall glass of ice water, I had an epiphany: My colleagues don’t put themselves through this kind of torture. Music writer Michael McCall doesn’t frequent hotel lounges and review cover bands. Art writer Dave Ribar doesn’t feel compelled to write about black velvet paintings at the Nashville Flea Market. Architecture critic Christine Kreyling doesn’t have to talk about cinder-block storage buildings.
So why, I asked myself, do I feel this obligation to subject myself and my friends to chain restaurants, the cover bands/velvet paintings/cinder-block buildings of the food world?
No more! Standing in my kitchen at 3:30 a.m., six hours after forcing down dinner at Cozymel’s, I declared my emancipation. Never again will I attempt to hold the food in any chain restaurant to any standard of culinary integrity.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why it was Cozymel’s that broke the camel’s back. Was it the pre-opening press release, promising, as every chain restaurant promises, a “fun, festive atmosphere.” (Those are code words, I’ve learned, for “plenty of noise and tasteless decor to distract you from our utterly meritless food.”)
Was it the fact that, even though Cozymel’s seats 345 people and even though we arrived before 6:30 on a Tuesday night, we still had to wait an hour and 15 minutes for the first available table, which was, predictably, located in the smoking section? Was it the fact that eight of us had to spend that hour and 15 minutes clustered around a small, dirty table in the bar, where we were expertly ignored by our server? (We finally bused our own table. The server only dropped by to pick up his tip from the customers before us.)
Was it the gaudy gift shop where customers, enervated by waiting for their tables, will be virtually forced to buy cheap (but not inexpensive) souvenir serapes for their screaming children?
Was it the huge communal bowl of pink and yellow tortilla chips and salsa—conveniently set up midway between bar and gift shop—into which everyone was indiscriminately dipping?
I had only one reason to be grateful: Even though Cozymel’s touts itself as a family restaurant, I went there with an adults-only party. I see no reason to confuse my children, who at 4 and 5, are already used to eating the real thing at La Hacienda Tacqueria. I can hear it now—“But Mommy, if this is a Mexican restaurant, why aren’t there any Mexicans eating here?”
My children might have been distracted by the brightly colored drinks swirling round and round in the slushy machines behind the bar. Cozymel’s offers 13 varieties of bebidas, primarily of the margarita variety. We tried the piña coladas and got our first hint of the odd chemical aftertaste that also lingered from some of the sauces, the fruit-flavored margaritas and even the guacamole. We did like the Primo Rita, the Clasico Rita and the Laguna Rita. The imported beer selection was admirable, particularly the Negra Modelo.
Cozymel’s supposedly features the cuisine of Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. I’ve never been to Cancun or Cozumel, but if Cozymel’s is serving the real thing, I’ll pack my own lunch if I do ever hit the Yucatan.
Once we had been seated in the very smoky smoking section, we sampled a few appetizers. Pyromaniacs are sure to love the queso flameados, a pan of melted Mexican cheeses, cream sauce and cilantro pesto set ablaze at tableside. Watch those eyelashes.
The crab cakes may have been OK, but it was hard to tell, given the severe case of sauce overload—a problem that recurred, again and again, as the meal wore on...and on and on. Ceviche is supposed to consist of raw fish and shellfish “cooked”in lime juice. Cozymel’s version consists of seared Ahi tuna and boiled shrimp tossed in citrus juice and fresh cilantro. It may not have been authentic, but it was the best thing we tasted all night.
The rest of our excursion through the menu—a remarkably greasy chili relleno stuffed with chicken, a fatty chicken enchilada, a sinfully overgrilled piece of salmon, grilled tenderloin medallions and a blackened swordfish—was marked by nearly fatal overdoses of cheese and an array of mysterious sauces, including a green cilantro sauce, a coral chipotle sauce, a red ancho chili sauce and a ruddy ranchero sauce. You might try asking for the sauces on the side, but I’m afraid even that request might throw the kitchen for a loop. When I asked Vince, our friendly and efficient server, if there was anything on the menu with mole sauce, the rich concoction of chilies, garlic and chocolate available in any authentic Mexican restaurant, he informed us that, since no one in Brentwood seemed to like mole, Cozymel’s had taken it off the menu. Just too Mexican, one presumes.
We liked the idea of the lamb fajitas, but we didn’t like the sizzling skillet in which they arrived. The searing temperature dried out everything on the platter. Thoughts of a lucrative lawsuit also sprang to mind.
Believe it or not, the menu offers several light items. We tried the pasta, served in a too-sweet tomato sauce with five plump shrimp and big chunks of undercooked squash and zucchini.
Desserts are truly formidable, both for size and for sweetness. The mound of banana pudding may remind you of the volcano experiment you did in fourth-grade science lab. The loaf-sized flan, in either its traditional or chocolate varieties, could feed a family of six. The bill for eight before tip was $174.70, which included several beers.
If you wonder why Americans are so fat and getting fatter, just peek into Cozymel’s (or Logan’s or Olive Garden or Pizza Hut, home of the TripleDeckeroni Pizza). I’m convinced there is a conspiracy afoot. I’m just not sure who is in cahoots with the chain restaurants. The health care industry? Weight loss centers? Big and Tall Men’s shops? Morticians?
Cozymel’s is located at 1654 Westgate Ln. in Brentwood (377-6363). Open 11 a.m.-11 p.m. Sun.-Thu.; open until midnight Fri. and Sat.
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